“What should we do?”

“There are some things too broken to be fixed,” he said, struggling to breathe. “Some that are inevitable. Tel Macon I'm sorry. For a lot of things…”

The old man's head rol ed to the side, his eyes stil and unfocused. The snakes stopped hissing and fel against his chest.

He was dead.

Link grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently.

“Mr. Trueblood!” But he was gone.

The end of the Mortal world.

The words kept replaying themselves over and over in Link's head.

He walked over to the ashtray, where a pipe was stil smoking, and knocked the embers out of it.

Obidias Trueblood wouldn't need it anymore. Link pul ed the heavy cream envelope out of his pocket.

Something else the dead Caster wouldn't need.

He stared at Macon's handwriting scrawled across the envelope. The letter wasn't meant for Link. He knew that. But he also knew the guy it was meant for was dead. He tore open the envelope, cutting his finger on the edge of the paper.

He pul ed out a card from inside, his blood smearing across the front. He stared at it for a long time, his hand shaking.

The card was completely blank.

“No way.”

Link looked from the card to the Dark Caster lying dead next to it. There wasn't a letter. There never had been. The message was from Macon Ravenwood, but it wasn't for the dead guy. It was for Link—even he knew that much.

If it was a test, Link hoped he had passed. It didn't happen very often, but there was a first time for happen very often, but there was a first time for everything.

Besides, this time Link knew there was more at stake than summer school.

Much more.